


Since the Flood

by hobbitsarepeopletoo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cuddling, Depression, Emotional Turmoil, Homeschooling, I'm going to stop tagging things until I know wtf is going on, M/M, Niall is a Good Friend, Niall is nice, Overbearing Parents, and the complete opposite, best friend jealousy, is kissing boring?, probably not but some people think so, right - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7338040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsarepeopletoo/pseuds/hobbitsarepeopletoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is sad and Harry hangs around graveyards in the early morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this ends a little abruptly, but I've had this in my drafts for quite a while and I just want to get it out there. I may come back to it at some point, but for now this is all I have.  
> The title is from Ophelia by the Lumineers.

“Sometimes I don’t want to exist anymore,” Louis whispers to his room. It’s long past the time anyone’s awake to hear him, his sisters went to bed and his mother tapped on his door to tell him goodnight hours ago, he’s not too sure how many. The only reply to his musings is the faint luminescence of the glow-in-the-dark stars he stuck up on his ceiling when he was eight and the rustling of the nighttime wind through the trees outside.

Once he thought about telling someone that, reaching out and telling them what he thinks about when he can’t sleep, when he’s on his own. He nearly opened his mouth once, at a sleepover with Liam and Zayn. The words were there, right on the tip of his tongue, ready to burst into existence, but he swallowed them down. He already knew what their reactions would be, same as when he told them about the disease festering in between his neurons. Liam’s eyebrows pulled together and he hugged Louis for a long time, as though Louis had split into pieces and all he needed was a good squeeze to put him back together. Zayn looked faintly surprised, patted him on the thigh, and said, “Sorry bro.”

He really didn’t know what he expected by telling them. Maybe that they’d ask all the right questions and know what to do, how to hold him and talk to him when he was at his lowest. Outwardly, nothing had changed; they still treated him exactly the way they used to. It made Louis want to grab them and shake them and scream, “Don’t you see this isn’t working?!” But it wasn’t their fault and he knew it and he knew that they were all just human, tiny little specks meandering about, bumping into each other, trying to survive.

See, the thing is, the things Louis thinks, he couldn’t so easily convey them with all of the required meaning and weight. They’d misunderstand; they’d think he wants to kill himself, to die. He doesn’t, not really, all he wants is to stop for a while, to settle down into a coma and get away from everyone, especially himself. He’s always sad, sad and angry and apathetic and it’s exhausting, having the same feelings pressing down on him day after day. There’s a constant weight on his chest, one that disrupts his breathing and forces laughter down when it tries to rise. He doesn’t want to kill himself; he just wants to sleep peacefully for the rest of time. He wants to stay wrapped in cocoon of blankets and not deal with school or his future until he grows wings and can fly away from his problems when he needs to. He can’t keep maintaining the façade he’s set up for the people he loves, he can feel it crumbling around him like a sandcastle.

They’re worried about him, he knows, or, at least, he’d like to think so. He could just be imagining the worried looks Zayn and Liam shoot each other when his laughter is feeling particularly forced that day. He could just be imagining the way his mother’s eyes go all worried after asking him why on earth he’s nearly failing every class and he can’t muster more of a reaction than a shrug. Because he can’t convey the anxiety roiling in his stomach, if he does, the dam will break, and everything will be ruined.

He could just be imagining it, but he’d like to think he’s not, because this weight of feeling something being undeniably wrong can’t all be in his head or else he’ll go crazy and kill himself. Except he doesn’t want to kill himself, but he thinks about it an awful lot for someone who’s dead-set on staying alive. Maybe he is crazy.

It’s a Friday and there’s only two more hours until he has to be awake, so he just gives up on sleep and attempts to do the homework he’s been systematically ignoring in favor of watching reality tv and listening to music turned with his headphones in turned up loud. He does his busy-work English assignment and gets halfway through math before he realizes the words and numbers aren’t going the right way through his sleep-deprived brain and he gives up, deciding instead to go on a walk. He doesn’t know why, physical activity was never really his thing, at least not without the express goal of getting a ball into a net. His head is a little fuzzy and he feels like he’s riding some sort of weird high as he pulls on his shoes, scoops up his phone, and closes the door as quietly as he can behind him.

The air is cool and sharp, it burns its way down his throat as he takes a deep breath and coughs a little. It clears away some of the fuzziness in his head, sweeping away the cobwebs in his skull. The sun hasn’t risen yet, it’s a deep, pre-dawn gray when he puts his headphones in and starts playing something soft and quiet that he hasn’t listened to in a while.

He’s never seen the street he grew up on at this time before, everything looks eerie and different as he sets off down the road. He’s eager to get away from people, from the things they live in and what they’ve built up, but there’s nowhere like that around where he lives, it’s all civilization, with roads and shops and houses, stretching on for far too long in all directions. Really, the only place remotely close to what he’s looking for is the cemetery, the Catholic one just outside of his neighborhood. So off he goes, the crunch of leaves and gravel under his shoes loud even through his headphones.

The cemetery is more alive in the early hours. In the neighborhood, the houses stood dark like tombs, but here the barest hint of light reflects off the headstones and everything has a softness not present between the graves of sleeping people.

He starts in the newer parts, the ones where people died less than five years ago, and empty plots of grass patiently wait. Olivia, Emily, Gerald, he proceeds at a slow, plodding pace, taking in every name while the people in his headphones sing and scream about getting out of that nowhere town.

Slowly, the headstones get more and more worn, there’s less and less flowers near them. People who died in the 50s, 40s, whose great-grandchildren don’t remember them, or don’t have enough fond memories to care. As he walks toward the small monuments erected to those who died in the 19th century, he notices a boy, leaned up against one stone, staring at another one intently. His brows are furrowed and he’s biting at his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. Louis feels like he’s intruding on something private, the boy isn’t even listening to music, just sitting in relative silence, staring at a grave for someone who died more than a century ago, but he walks closer anyway, pressing pause on the music and stowing his phone in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

The boy’s head snaps up as Louis comes closer, his feet making wet noises in the mud of the path. He shocked, or at least surprised, his eyebrows pulling away from each other and going up, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open.

Louis stops a few feet away, squelching lightly to a halt.

“Uh, hi,” his voice cracks slightly, sending a flush of embarrassment through his body.

“Hi,” the boy replies. His voice is deep, yet still sounds crackly, pubescent, like it hasn’t been smoothed over with age yet. His hair falls into his eyes; it’s curly and deep brown. 

Their words are too loud for the misty morning, but Louis feels relaxed, like he’s floating, like he could lay his head down on a grave and sleep until his problems disappeared. It’s such a contrast to lying in bed, wound tight with stress, that he feels like he should be surprised by it.

“What are you looking at?”

The words don’t seem to register with the boy for a second, then he blinks once (his eyes are green), then turns back to the gravestone he’d been contemplating.

“It’s just; these parents lost two kids in the same year.”

Louis walks closer and looks at the engraving.

‘Eleanor Baker: 1875-1875  
Timothy Baker: 1873-1875’

“Do you want to sit down?” The boy’s eyebrows are pushed together again, skin wrinkling up in the middle.

Louis sits with a soft huff, dew soaking through his pajama bottoms. “I’m Louis,” he says and sticks out his hand.

“Harry,” the boy grabs the offered hand and shakes once, before settling back to look at the headstone again.

Louis lifts the corner of his mouth in a half-smile that Harry doesn’t see, before staring at the grave with him. “I wonder what they died of.”

“A disease, probably, no antibiotics and all that,” Harry says.

Louis closes his eyes. “Maybe they drowned.”

Harry affirms the possibility with a hum. “But Eleanor was just a baby and Timothy was only two. Imagine losing all of that in such a short time.”

Louis feels sad, but not for himself, like how he normally feels sad. It’s nice to have negative emotions not aimed at himself and his many and varied shortcomings. He scoots closer to Harry and leans on the headstone next to him. The side of his body feels warm but everything else feels far away and he slips into sleep.

~~~

There’s a hand pushing on his shoulder gently and his back aches. The sun is shining too brightly through his window and Louis opens his eyes with a groan. A boy’s squatting in front of him, and Louis doesn’t recognize him for a second.

Right. Harry.

His mouth feels like a desert has set up shop there and is peddling out sand to his tastebuds.

“Time s’it?” he says groggily.

“Around 5:30, you just missed the sunrise.”

Louis groans again and starts to struggle to his feet. Harry holds out a hand and Louis accepts, allowing Harry to pull him to his feet. He stretches until his back pops and they set   
off down the muddy path together. Now that sunlight has started streaming through the trees, everything seems louder, the birds and people waking up, cars trundling down the road.

“Where do you live?” Harry asks. They’re nearly at the entrance of the cemetery.

Louis waves his hand vaguely to the north. “Over there. You?”

“Oak Ridge,” Harry looks vaguely uncomfortable saying it.

Louis nods sagely. Harry’s a rich boy it seems (well, relatively speaking, for the area). If they knew each other better, he might make a comment about it, but as it stands, they met in a cemetery and the only conversation they’ve had has been about dead children. So he refrains.

“I haven’t seen you around school,” Louis says. As soon as the words leave his mouth, a stab of panic hits him in the gut. What if they’re in the same classes and Louis’ being an oblivious dick? What if they’ve actually met before? Louis does that, meets people and then promptly forgets their face and name, while they remember his. It’s always awkward and they’re always angry when they realize he doesn’t know who they are.

Harry looks even more uncomfortable. “I’m homeschooled.” He fidgets as he speaks, shifting his weight from foot to foot and scratching idly at his cheek.

Louis just nods again and glances toward his neighborhood. His mom’ll be waking up soon, she’ll be wondering where he is. “I’m just gonna…”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll just… see you later Louis.”

“Bye Harry.”

~~~

Louis creeps into his house and is in the shower before he hears his mom rustling around. Despite his hour long nap in a graveyard with a boy he just met, he’s still tired, and yawns hugely as he filches a cup of coffee from his mom. He’s on the bus before his sisters are awake.

The bus smells stale and gross, Louis shoves his headphones in his ears and turns on the music he was listening to before he saw Harry. The shocks on the bus are shit, so he can’t lean his head against the window lest he get a concussion.

He wonders what it would be like to be homeschooled. Harry probably gets to sleep in at least until seven, and he doesn’t have to turn his music up to blasting to avoid listening to the people that are entirely too loud for how early it is.

But he doesn’t have a Liam or a Zayn, Louis thinks as Liam climbs on the bus. He makes his way down the aisle, plops down in the seat next to Louis, and lets Louis rest his head on his shoulder for the rest of the ride.

Louis sleeps his way through his morning classes, because apparently the only place he finds it impossible to drop off is in his own bed. He shares most of his classes with Liam, who keeps sending him little worried looks, like a puppy who doesn’t know if he’s going to get a treat or not. Louis can’t muster up the energy to try to reassure him, so he ignores the looks, and the way they make his stomach twist into tighter knots. 

At lunch he wolfs down his food, as though forcing enough food into it can make his stomach settle down, can make it unknot and relax. Zayn stares at him as though he can pick through Louis’ screwed up brain to get the answers he seeks, but doesn’t say anything, just nudges his chicken nuggets closer to Louis, who swallows his mouthful of peanut butter sandwich and says, “thanks bro.”

Harry floats in the back of his head as he goes through the motions of functioning teenager eager to become an adult. Louis looks around at his classmates and wonders if any of them would sit in a cemetery at four in the morning wondering about a baby and her brother who died years and years ago. He supposes they all have the empathetic capacity to (because Louis has been trying this thing where he believes the best in people), but maybe not the drive. Which begs the question, what was driving Harry? 

~~~

“Are you all right?” Liam asks as Louis sits heavily down in the seat next to him. “Zayn said you were weird at lunch and you’ve been acting odd all day.”

“Yeah, just, couldn’t sleep last night,” Louis says. He’s about to say more, tell one of his best friends about the boy he met, but something stops him and the words sink back down his throat.

Liam makes a sympathetic face says, “That sucks man. But at least you’ll be able to sleep tonight, right?” He waits for Louis to nod before moving on to talk about the cute new girl in his Economics class. In twelve minutes, Louis learns that the girl’s name is Sophia, and she has floaty brown hair and really nice eyes, and Liam hasn’t seen it yet, but he bets that she has the prettiest smile. 

Louis smiles and tells Liam that he should ask her for her number and Liam blushes, which makes him go all red and splotchy from his cheeks right down to his neck. By the time Liam’s stop comes up, Louis’ feeling warm down to his toes. He loves his friends and there’s nothing he likes more in the world than making them happy, because everyone deserves to be happy, he thinks.

Then Liam leaves and Louis’ stuck there again with the loud people yelling behind him and no shoulders to lean his head on when he gets sleepy. The warmth drains out the soles of his feet as he shoves his headphones in his ears.

~~~

Louis is in bed by eight and wide awake by four Saturday morning. He’s starting to get tired of the way his bedroom ceiling looks before the sun rises. He rubs at his eyes and sits up, patting down his bed head with one hand and reaching for a shirt with the other.

He leaves his headphones at home this time. Part of him relishes in the silence of the sleeping world, punctuated only by the steps of his sneakered feet hitting the pavement, the slight crunch when loose pebbles are caught in the mix. The other part twists nervously at the fact that there’s no one around to validate his actions. There are no neighbors or his mom to do what he’s doing, no one to tell him that it’s the right thing to do.

Except there is, isn’t there? As Louis rounds a corner and the cemetery comes into view, he peers past the shiny and new headstones to spot a mop of curly hair. His heart rate picks up a little and his palms sweat a bit. Is this going to be a thing now? What if Louis accidentally sleeps in tomorrow and misses this time with Harry and then Harry thinks that Louis doesn’t like him?

Louis doesn’t bother dallying around reading headstones, just walks as quickly as can be deemed casual along the twisting path to where Harry’s sitting. Walking on the graves makes Louis uncomfortable, like he’s intruding on something private, like when he eats dinner with Zayn’s family at his house.

Harry looks sleepier this time, the hollows under his eyes are dark and his hair looks tangled. He’s clutching at a piece of paper; his head is tilted back to face the gradually lightening sky and his eyes are closed. When he hears the gravel shifting under Louis’ footsteps, he opens his eyes and offers him a soft smile that Louis can’t help but return.

“Hi,” Harry says.

“Hi.”

He waves around the piece of paper weakly. “I found out what happened.”

Louis squints, “What?”

“To Eleanor and Timothy, I found out what happened,” he explains, unfolding the paper and smoothing out the creases.

“How did you do that?” Louis asks, walking over and squatting down by Harry. They’re on a grave, but with Harry it doesn’t feel as intrusive.

“I went to the library and asked if they had death records, but they didn’t and they told me to go to city hall, and they would only let me look at them if it was for school so I told them I was trying to do a family tree and then they let me see it,” Harry explains. The piece of paper is a photocopy of an old book. Warping on the pages casts dark patches on the copy, and the writing is thin, precise cursive.

“You lied?” Louis is kind of impressed.

Harry grins. “It’s the curls and the dimples. I can get away with anything.”

Louis rolls his eyes and pokes at the indentation in Harry’s cheek. “Well, what does it say?”

“Measles, so I was right,” Harry says, nudging Louis until he falls onto his butt in the wet grass.

Louis pouts. “Well, to be fair, drowning is pretty specific, whereas disease is such a vast category, I don’t know if it really counts.”

Harry’s grin fades and he nods, mock serious. “Maybe I’ll only get a half a point for that then.”

Louis bites his lip in a vain attempt at hiding a smile. “So we’re keeping score now?”

The joking manner slides off Harry and he looks tense. “Uh, I guess, I mean, if you want to keep, like, hanging out or whatever, like, I know we only met twice, but, like-“

Louis slaps a hand over Harry’s mouth. “Curly, I would like to keep hanging out with you very much. But maybe not in a cemetery at four in the morning?”

Harry sighs. “Oh, thank god. I had to stay up all night so I wouldn’t miss you.”

Louis stares at him for a beat. “You stayed up all night so a person you met once could find out how two children who lived more than a century ago died?”

Harry flushes a little, a pretty pink on his cheeks. “Uh, yes?”

Louis grins wide and ruffles Harry’s hair. “You’re an odd duck Harold.”

Harry giggles before his face looks a little nervous. “So, uh, how about we get out of this graveyard?”

Louis sighs in relief and springs to his feet. “Yes, please. Being around all of these dead people gives me the creeps.”

Harry tips his head back and giggles to the sky, though the nervous set in his brow remains.

~~~

As they walk to the entrance of the cemetery, Harry digs into the pocket of his (very tight, Louis notes) jeans and pulls out an ipod and headphones. He offers one to Louis, who pops it in his ear. Soft acoustic guitar flows through it, chased by a high, soothing voice.

They stroll down the sidewalk, meandering away from Louis’ house. They knock shoulders and hands and Louis can hear Harry humming along to the music, until all of a sudden, the headphone is ripped out of Louis’ ear. He stumbles a bit, caught off-guard. Looking around, he sees Harry, crouched down by the edge of the path, picking flowers. There’re tiny little ones that look like daisies and pinky-purple clovers and large, sprawling blooms of Queen Anne’s lace. Louis watches him delicately pick at the thin stems of the daisies and clovers, looking tiny in his big hands.

Louis crouches down next to him, and Harry grins awkwardly and apologetically. “Sorry, I just, flowers,” he says by way of explanation, holding out a small bundle for Louis’ approval. He takes them gently and pushes the stems through Harry’s curls. They droop a little sadly, so Louis tugs on a Queen Anne’s lace flower. The stem seems to be quite intent on staying attached to the plant, he puts his back into it, and when it pulls free, he falls on his butt for the second time that morning. Harry giggles a bit, and trails off when   
Louis tucks the flower under his hair, right on top of his ear. It makes him look positively angelic.

Harry smiles softly and his eyes flicker down to Louis’ lips, just for a quick second.

And oh, this is flirting, isn’t it?

Louis exhales shakily and stands. Harry waits for a beat before doing the same, albeit less gracefully, tripping over his feet a little bit.

A couple flowers fall to the ground and Louis grabs his elbow to steady him. “Careful there.”

Harry goes pink at that. His lips part slightly and Louis wants to kiss him, really wants to kiss him. But they’ve known each other less than a week, so maybe it’s a bit out of line. They stand there and stare at each other until the tension is broken by Louis’ stomach growling loudly. Harry looks away quickly, clearing his throat. Louis pats at his tummy in embarrassment, wondering what Harry’s going to do.

“D’you wanna eat breakfast at my house?” Harry asks, risking a quick look at Louis.

All of a sudden, Louis really doesn’t want to. He wants to go home and sleep and avoid talking to anyone. But it would be rude to say so. Normal people would say yes, would   
follow this utterly odd, impossibly captivating boy to his house where they would eat bacon and eggs and have a great time and Harry would invite him back the next day and the next until they become great friends and fall in love and have a relationship fit for a Disney channel original movie. 

But Louis can’t handle that, having a normal relationship where everything ends up happy and nice, because he can’t relate to people the way they want him to, the way he wants to. Zayn and Liam are only his friends because they feel obligated, after all, it’d be pretty shitty to ditch him after a decade of friendship.

He realizes that Harry’s standing there, looking supremely uncomfortable.

“Um, I just,” he tries to explain the tangle in his head without sounding like an absolute lunatic.

Harry coughs. “No, it’s fine, I was too forward. I mean, I don’t really meet a lot of people, being homeschooled and all, and, oh god, I’m making you feel guilty aren’t I? I wasn’t trying to, I swear.”

Louis laughs, short and tense. “Uh, how about, we could go somewhere instead?”

Harry looks relieved. “Yeah, that’s good, going places. I just need to get my wallet, but you wouldn’t have to come inside or anything.”

Harry’s house is closer than Louis’ on the route into town, so it doesn’t seem unreasonable. He nods in agreement, and gestures for Harry to lead the way. They walk quietly, their hands brushing every few steps. It doesn’t send electric sparks up Louis’ spine, but it does feel nice. Without really thinking about it, he reaches out and laces their hands together. For a second he panics, but then Harry turns to him, smiling wide, and Louis relaxes, grinning back.

~~~

Harry’s house is big. Like, really big. Louis is pretty sure two of his houses could fit into one of Harry’s, with enough left over for a master bathroom. He’s suddenly overwhelmingly relieved that he offered an alternative to eating breakfast in what seems to be a mansion. He wouldn’t be completely surprised if they had a butler. 

Harry disappears into the front door without a word. Louis stands on the sidewalk, nudging a pebble around with his toe. He’s not entirely sure how he feels about this, about Harry, and the whole Having At Least Some Desire To Kiss Him thing. He’s had two relationships in his life, one that lasted seven months in which the girl he was dating apparently really wanted sex, whereas he didn’t. He got kind of tired of the dick grabbing after a while, which ended that. The other relationship had lasted a week with a boy three years younger than him and culminated in the boy kissing him in Louis’ basement, while all Louis wanted to do was watch Doctor Who. Louis dumped him the next Monday. 

Louis pulls himself back from the edge, where he was teetering dangerously toward a giant, bubbling vat full of self-pity. So what? It was only two failed high school relationships, he was only eighteen. It had no bearing on Harry or Louis’ desire to cuddle him close and watch Lord of the Rings. Besides, Harry seemed to have more empathy in his ankle bone than the other two had in their whole bodies.

The front door of Harry’s house opens quietly, snapping Louis’ attention away from himself and the scuffed toes of his sneakers. Harry turns behind him and shuts the door as softly as he can, before bounding over to where Louis was standing. 

“Got it!” he says cheerily, waving his wallet in the air. 

“Great,” Louis says, smiling up at him. This thing with Harry, whether it would turn out to be friendship or something romantic, wouldn’t be like anything else. Harry was his own person, and he wasn’t like Rachel or Ben, just like they weren’t like each other. Every person was their own entity, a conglomerate of quirks and oddities, and comparing them was unfair to Harry, to Rachel, to Ben, and to any of the memories Louis had with them that weren’t bad. 

Harry doesn’t seem to notice his contemplation, just sticks his wallet in his back pocket and gestures expansively. “So, where shall we go?”

Louis glances at his phone. It’s nearing six, and he doesn’t really know anything that would be open this early. “Um, I don’t know. McDonald’s?”

Harry makes a face at that, crinkles up his nose and squints his eyes a little, and a bit of nervousness creeps into Louis’ tummy. Then Harry’s features smooth out and the smile is back once again. “Oh, I know!” he says before turning and walking back the way they came, toward the main road. 

They walk until the pink is nearly faded from the sky, sometimes talking inanely about their lives, sometimes content to just feel the early morning breeze freeze their ears. Harry yawns hugely once in a while, and Louis kind of feels bad, but also doesn’t, because if Harry hadn’t stayed up all night, Louis isn’t sure he would have seen him again. He feels happy, so happy he doesn’t even obsess over his own selfishness. He probably will later and he knows this, but that little stone in his stomach doesn’t do more than keep him grounded so he doesn’t float away from Harry. They walk through the middle of town, past all of the locked up shops and the all-night gas stations with exhausted looking employees that Louis feels bad for, but not so bad that he feels guilty for giggling at something Harry says. They’re heading back into the residential part of town and Louis is wondering where Harry’s taking him when Harry stops suddenly. It takes Louis a few seconds to realize he’s no longer walking by anyone, and he stops short. He turns around and Harry flings his arms out wide.

“This is it!”

“It” is a small red house that looks completely ordinary, except for a sign that says “Sweet Cheeks” in the yard. Louis looks at it for a minute, and then back at Harry, his face a little pinched up.

“What?”

Harry’s face flushes a bit, but his smile doesn’t dim. “It’s a bakery! My friend Niall’s parents own it. They also do like, catering and stuff.”

Louis looks a bit closer. There’s a purple minivan parked in the driveway, and now that he thinks about it, he can kind of smell fresh bread baking. Harry’s still looking at him expectantly, and Louis doesn’t know if he likes that, but he waves expansively and says “Lead on then.”

Harry grabs his hand and leads him inside the bakery. It’s warm and cozy and it smells like coffee and bread. A bell rings as Harry pushes the door open, and someone pokes their head out from what Louis assumes is the kitchen. It’s a boy with blonde hair and dark roots, tired eyes and rosy cheeks. He looks exhausted, but brightens up when he sees Harry. Louis knows the feeling. 

“Harry! And friend! How’s it going, what can I get for you?” says the person Louis can only assume is Niall. 

Someone else peeks out from the back, a woman with blonde hair that immediately looks disapprovingly at Niall. “You get back in there and fold that macaron batter. Not too much now!” she says, grabbing him by the shoulders and steering him into the back. She sighs and wipes her hands before turning to them with a cheery smile.

“What can I get for you boys?”

“Um,” Harry looks around contemplatively, “two coffees, a blueberry muffin, and what do you want Louis?”

“Uh, a scone please.”

“And one scone,” Harry says proudly as Niall's mom rings them up. Louis doesn’t even pretend to search for his wallet as Harry hands over the money. He supposes that makes him an asshole, but at this point he’s kind of too tired to care. Shehands them two paper cups and points them over to a station where they can fill the cups themselves. Harry immediately goes for the plain black coffee, adding only one sugar packet. Louis wonders how he can drink that as he fills his cup with hot water and rips open the packet containing his tea bag.

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Not a coffee person?”

Louis shrugs.

Harry nods sagely. “You look like a tea drinker, but I didn’t want to, you know, presume.”

“Sometimes it’s all right,” Louis says, the words fighting their way out of his throat, “if you presume.”

Harry just smiles like he doesn’t quite understand. Louis didn’t really expect him to.

~~~

They munch on their food and meander their way back to the cemetery, walking back seems to take much longer than getting there did, especially when Louis realizes that his mom will be getting up soon, and that she doesn’t know he’s gone, she doesn’t even know Harry. Louis feels like he knows Harry after only spending four hours with the kid, but there’s still that hint of awkwardness that lingers in the air after meeting a new person, where you both know you’re trying to appear your absolute best, to not let any little flaws and quirks mar the brilliantly blank slate of a new friendship. 

But Louis’ mom hasn’t met Harry yet, doesn’t even have an inkling of who he is. All she knows is that her son isn’t in his bed when he’s supposed to be, and the thought sends an ugly twist through Louis’ stomach.

“Um,” he says, and Harry’s head snaps around to look at him, muffin crumbs falling from his lips. “I really need to get home. My mom doesn’t know where I am, and she worries.”

Harry’s face falls dramatically. “Oh, okay.”

“But I can give you my number!” Louis says, entirely too desperate to keep the happy, contented look on Harry’s face.

His expressions brightens marginally, but Louis still feels guilty for quickly rattling off his cell phone number and then zooming away, desperate to get home.

When he quietly steps in the front door, he realizes it was all for naught, his mother isn’t awake yet, and he’s still clutching the to-go mug from Sweet Cheeks in his hand. He feels bad, really bad, but he doesn’t want to seem completely desperate. So he throws the cup away, heads upstairs, and crawls into bed. Ten minutes later he hears his mom get up.

~~~

Harry doesn’t text. He doesn’t call, he probably doesn’t even write Louis’ number on a dirty bathroom stall, because Louis’ phone doesn’t make any noise all Saturday and into Sunday. Louis helps his mom clean up after dinner, washing the dishes and sweeping the floor, and he can’t ignore this anymore. He tells his mom he’s going on a walk and she smiles vaguely and says, “Have fun honey.”

He doesn’t really think about what he’s doing as he starts the trek over to Oak Ridge. The only thing he’s consciously contemplating is the music pouring into his ears (a movie soundtrack today) and the way his footsteps resonate ever so slightly as his feet make contact with the sidewalk. It’s only when he’s staring at the gigantic houses he comes to his senses. What the fuck is he doing here? He’s just going to wander around this posh neighborhood until he finds Harry’s house that he saw briefly while sleep-deprived?

Even as his breathing speeds up and his heart starts thumping in his chest, Louis’ feet carry him up the street. Harry’s house was gray, with red shutters, he seems to remember. Why do houses have shutters anymore when there’s no functional use for them? It’s so not the point, but Louis can’t stop thinking about it. His palms are sweating as he spots the house he thinks is Harry’s, just a block over from where he’s standing in the middle of the sidewalk thinking about shutters like a jackass. He wipes his hands on his jeans and goes up to knock on the door before he freaks out even more and decides that feeling that calm and happy whenever Harry’s around just isn’t worth it and leaves. 

He stands in the driveway, staring at the front door and double-dog daring himself to just go up and ring the doorbell, it won’t be that bad, how hard can it be? Just as he’s convinced his left foot to make the tiniest of movements toward the house, the door opens and Harry emerges, his brow furrowed, and Louis can’t tell if he’s angry or confused.

“Louis? What are you doing here?”

Shame and embarrassment shoot through him. “Uhm, I just, you never texted and I thought you might be upset, but I didn’t want you to be, so I just, I’m sorry,” he trails off,   
picking at the skin on the pads of his fingers. 

Harry’s face smoothes out and he smiles a little, which Louis definitely counts as A Good Thing. “I’m sorry I made you worry, I just didn’t know what to say, and I thought you just maybe gave me your number to be nice or something.”

Louis tries to look offended but the rush of relief that melts his anxiety and worry is probably just makes him look constipated. “Harold, I’m never just nice. I always have an ulterior motive and I’m frankly shocked you would think otherwise.”

A big grin splits Harry’s face and he says a little shyly, “Do you want to come in?”

Louis looks up at the big house, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. “Uh, sure?”

Harry either doesn’t notice that Louis’ nervous, or he’s choosing to ignore it as he links arms with Louis and pulls him up the walkway. The entryway is vast and it smells like lemon cleaner as Louis steps inside and toes off his shoes. The carpet of the sitting room right next to the door looks like it never saw a stain in its entire life.

“Uhm, that’s the family room. We never really go in there.” Harry says, waving a hand at it. “How about I give you the grand tour next time? We can just go up to my room.”

A giant weight falls off Louis’ chest. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

They climb a set of stairs and Louis’ led down a hallway and through the last door on the right. The room is very boyish, the walls a nice blue color, the furniture dark wood. It’s gigantic compared to Louis’ room, which can barely fit his bed, bookcase, and dresser. It’s all neat and tidy, only a few sweatshirts on the floor and the blankets on the bed a little rumpled. There’s a desk in the corner, a laptop open and a textbook next to it. There’s a huge bookcase that forms an archway around the head of his bed, full of books, cds and records. Louis feels like if he sets foot in this pristine room it’ll all come crashing down. Harry coughs once, a little awkwardly, and goes to pick up the clothes on the floor.

“Do you want to come in?” as soon as he says it, Harry seems to realize he’s repeating himself and laughs a little. Louis feels an answering smile stretch his face. When he pads into the room, the world doesn’t come crashing down, Harry just smooths the bed covers and sits down, patting the spot next to him. Louis sits and lets his gaze travel around the room one more time before he gestures over to the desk.

“What are you working on?” 

“Oh, uh,” Harry coughs, “some history. We’re working on the 18th century now, post-Restoration and all that.” 

Louis nods. He knows history from listening to Liam recount all of the documentaries he’s seen. Liam likes documentaries, especially the ones about Vikings, but whenever Louis offers to put one on when he comes over, Liam gets a little fidgety and says, “nah, that’s okay.” Louis thinks Liam’s suffering under the delusion that Louis will think they’re boring, but he’s wrong. Vikings are cool, and Louis likes the way Liam gets animated when talking about past battles and royal successions and all that. 

They sit in silence for a few awkward moments before Harry clears his throat, “so, what do you like to do?”

Louis doesn’t know why he’s caught off-guard by the question. He pauses for a moment, before saying, “Oh, y’know. I like playing football, playing video games with my friends.”

“What kind of video games?”

“All kinds I suppose. Zayn likes Call of Duty best, but that’s only because he can beat me at it.”

Harry nods, his brow furrowed like he’s concentrating really hard on categorizing everything Louis says.

“What’s it like being homeschooled?” Louis realizes the words are probably too personal, too prying as he says them, and he feels his cheeks flush red.

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up, like he was expecting the question and Louis played right into it. Louis doesn’t like playing into people’s expectations of him, but sometimes there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I dunno, I just spend a lot more time at home now I suppose. It’s like a constant summer vacation but with textbooks.”

Louis nods seriously.

“I was actually in public school for a while but my mom pulled me out. That’s where I met Niall.”

“Oh yeah, he seems nice,” Louis says vaguely as he thinks up at least ten reasons why Harry’s mom would want to pull him out of school. Reason number five is a flesh-eating worm infestation, but Louis supposes he would have heard about it on the news if that were the case.

“Yeah, I guess he goes to school with you now, have you seen him around?”

Louis thinks hard. He probably would remember a kid who managed to pull off bleached hair and dark roots so well, but that’s assuming he would be observant enough to be aware of people around him. “I’m not sure. I kind of go through school in a daze,” he says truthfully.

Harry looks worried for a second and Louis immediately regrets being honest. Before he can rectify his mistake, the door opens and someone pokes their head in.

“Hey Harry- oh hello, who’s this?”

“This is Louis, Louis this is my sister Gemma.” Louis notices his cheeks are a little pink. It’s cute, he supposes.

He offers a wave to Gemma. “Hi.”

“I didn’t hear you asking Mom if you could bring a boy up to your room,” she says, raising her eyebrows and grinning widely.

Harry flushes a darker pink and says, “Don’t tell her, I’m gonna ask next time.”

She looks like she’s about to say something back when Louis cuts her off. “Yeah, sorry, I was kind of nervous so I asked him not to. I’m not trying to pull anything.”

His heart catches in his throat as she looks at him weird for a few seconds, then says, “That’s all right. Just learn the rules next time I suppose.”

“Will do,” Louis nods and her head disappears behind the door before it softly clicks shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddling happens and the plot thickens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually wrote more! and I have a vague idea for the next chapter! So it's actually worth staying tuned now

“So, uh, who was that?” Louis asks, still looking at the door. 

There’s an odd twist in Harry’s mouth when he says, “my sister.” 

“Oh, uh, she seems nice,” Louis says.

Harry pastes an awful, fake smile on. “Oh yeah, everyone says she’s the pretty one.” 

Louis scoffs. “I mean, she is pretty, but you’re pretty too.”

Harry’s smile widens, gets less fake. “Oh thank you,” he simpers, pretending to toss some long hair behind his shoulder before looking at Louis head on. The sudden change in expression is a bit disconcerting. “You are too, pretty I mean. I’ve wanted to say it for a little bit but I wasn’t sure if that’d be weird.”

Louis blushes, he knows he does, but he pretends like he doesn’t. “Oh I know, I was just waiting for you to say it.”

Harry giggles, ducking his head and covering his mouth with the back of his hand. Louis is struck by the desire to just be close to him. He doesn’t know in what way, but Harry is maybe the best person he’s ever met. 

Which is a bit unfair to all the other people he’s met like Liam and Zayn and his mom and his sisters. But it stands. How he feels about Harry feels different to how he feels about Liam and Zayn, but, then again, how he feels about Liam is different to how he feels about Zayn.

It’s all a mess. 

Harry must follow his own train of thought out of the station because he sits there, staring absently about two feet to the left of Louis. At least that’s what Louis hopes is going on because Harry just sitting there and staring at him would definitely make him uncomfortable. He gets uncomfortable when anyone looks at him too long, trying to divine the reasons why he is the way he is. 

“So I have a question, and it might be a little weird,” Louis says, watching the way Harry snaps to attention.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Uhm, why are you homeschooled?” Louis ignores the churning in his stomach after he asks the question. It’s probably not a big deal, they’re properly friends, right? So Louis is allowed to ask him questions like that, right?

“Oh, uh, I don’t really do well in crowded and noisy situations? And that can happen a lot at school and I would get really overwhelmed, so my mom and I decided it would be best for me to learn at home,” Harry says, pinching at his bottom lip. 

Louis nods. It’s a reasonable answer. 

Harry fidgets with his fingers, pulling one finger then the next then the next. It looks satisfying. 

It feels like it’s been quiet for a good long while, though it’s probably only been not even a minute. Louis isn’t good at waiting for things or the perception of time at all honestly. He picks at a small scab on the back of his hand. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Harry says suddenly, making Louis jump a little. 

On the one hand, Louis should probably get home. On the other, no one has probably noticed he’s not there, and even if they had, they probably wouldn’t give a shit if he came home at half past four in the morning covered in blood. 

“Sure, what do you have?”

They end up watching The Incredibles on Harry’s laptop propped up between their feet where they sit side by side on Harry’s bed. Harry’s so so warm and Louis resists the urge to squirm around for the first half hour, but then it gets too much and he wriggles down a little bit until his head is resting on a pillow and his left arm is pressed firmly against Harry’s. He kind of wants to move away, doesn’t want to make it weird, but it could get weirder if he refused to touch Harry at all. So he props his head up in his right hand, elbow over his head and tries to concentrate on the thing that isn’t Harry’s smooth skin against his. 

Harry doesn’t seem to care though, squirming down the bed to join Louis in resting his head on a pillow. They both keep pretending they’re watching the movie but then Harry smooths his fingers against Louis’. It feels nice, and then Harry goes in for the kill, clasping their hands together, which also feels nice. Louis wonders if he should be feeling tingles or butterflies or whatever it is someone feels when they hold hands with someone they could have a romantic interest in. He doesn’t feel the tingles, but Harry’s hand is a nice comforting weight in his and it feels so good to just be present with someone. He feels like Harry is on the same level as him. It’s nice. 

The movie continues and stops and Harry doesn’t sit up to turn off the computer. They stay like that for a moment, staring at the DVD menu until Harry closes the laptop with one socked foot and nudges it off the bed into a laundry basket full of clean clothes. They’re still holding hands. 

Harry’s hand is a little sweaty now, and Louis’ starting to lose circulation in his fingers because Harry’s hand is a lot bigger than his and it’s completely engulfing Louis’ appendages, and it’s turned into something that Louis would like to stop doing. He carefully extracts his fingers and wiggles them around before shuffling onto his side and tucking his hands under his cheek, safe from Harry’s monstrous limbs. Harry copies him and then there they are, facing each other, hands tucked up under their cheeks. Harry leans in and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek. It’s soft and nice and it makes both of their faces heat up. Louis wants to kiss Harry.

Louis really wants to kiss Harry.

With Rachel kissing was something new to do, something that hadn’t really been explored before. With Ben, kissing was something that had been done, something to be endured. Louis doesn’t want to endure kissing Harry. 

Harry looks like he wants to Louis. Louis doesn’t know what he wants. Kissing can lead to boredom; boredom can lead to them never talking again. 

To divert Harry, Louis goes in for a cuddle. He wiggles closer to Harry and tucks his head under Harry’s chin and throws his right arm over Harry’s side and smashes his left one in between their chests. It’s a little awkward since they’re both practically the same height, but Louis catches Harry’s ankle between his calves and it’s okay. Without hesitation, Harry wraps his free arm around Louis’ waist and rests his hand in the middle of his back. It’s so so warm and so so nice. 

Harry presses a kiss to the top of Louis’ head. It’s nice. He can feel himself drifting off to sleep. It’s okay. 

\---

When Louis wakes up, Harry is detangling himself and sitting up. He doesn’t know why Harry’s doing that until his eyes flutter open and someone clears their throat.

Louis sits up too, even though he doesn’t want to. At the end of the bed there’s a tall woman who looks a lot like Harry. They have the same eyes and the same cheeks except Louis has never seen Harry looking angry, and this woman looks angry. 

“Harry,” she says, very calmly, very deliberately, “why is there a boy in your bed.”

It’s not a question. It doesn’t sound like a question. Louis feels the bottom fall out of his stomach. He wants to say something, like how he saved Harry when Gemma came in, but he can’t think of anything to say. His breathing is getting faster, and it’s so unfair to Harry, and Louis just wants to say something, but nothing is coming out when he opens his mouth. 

“Mom,” Harry says, “This is Louis.” He says it like he’s striving for the cool tone his mother is using, but it’s not working. He’s shaking a little bit where his leg is touching Louis’ and his voice is just the slightest bit wavery.

Louis offers a weak little wave. Harry’s mom looks at him. “Hello Louis. I’m sure you’re a very nice boy, but for now, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, and please don’t come back until you’re willing to provide us with a proper introduction.”  
Louis wants to cry, but he just met this woman, and it takes at least two weeks for Louis to be comfortable crying in front of someone. He swallows hard and nods. He gets up and leaves Harry’s bedroom and sees Gemma, standing there looking apologetic. “Sorry,” she whispers, “I tried to stop her.”

Louis shrugs and tries to smile before failing miserably. The voices in the bedroom he just left and getting louder and louder. Both he and Gemma stare at the closed door until they hear Harry scream something loud and angry, then they stare at each other.

“You should maybe go,” Gemma says, looking miserable, like she would want to go with him. 

Louis nods once then turns around and leaves the house. He does his best to not look back as he exits the neighborhood and makes the trek home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in the tags it originally said there was going to be an aromantic character, and there still might be, but it's not going to be Louis. Sorry y'all, I just can't write this specific fic with aro Louis.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School days are very long and very hard unless cute boys call you during Trig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back four months later! Upon further inspection this seems more like a filler chapter but that's okay exciting things will likely happen in the next chapter. I think. Probably.

He spends the night staring blankly at the ceiling. He feels wired, like a windup toy about to be released. At half past five, he gives up on the whole sleeping thing and drags himself into the shower. He feels like he’s moving through honey, like his limbs won’t immediately obey his wishes, which is annoying.  
The chilly morning air does nothing to snap him out of his zombie-like state as he steps up into the bus. Already there are people yelling and throwing things near the back, so he heaves a sigh and plops himself down in the third row. He curls in on himself until Liam gets there, then smushes his face into Liam’s shoulder.  
“Good morning to you too,” Liam says, sounding about as alert as Louis feels.  
“Mmm,” Louis replies. “How was your weekend.” He means to make it sound like a question, but somehow he can’t muster the ability.  
Liam’s quiet for a minute. Louis wants to be very concerned, but his head is very heavy, so he reaches up and blindly pats at what he assumes is Liam’s cheek. “What is it Lima,” he says softly.  
Liam huffs out a laugh that Louis can somehow hear despite the screaming that seems to get louder and louder with each stop.  
“Remember Sophia?” Liam asks, because he has the emotional capacity to ask questions instead of just saying things that are supposed to be questions.  
“Yup,” Louis says, leaving his hand on probably Liam’s cheek.  
“She flat-out rejected me,” Liam says like he’s trying really very hard not to cry. “Said she’s just not interested and will probably never be.”  
“Oh Leemo,” Louis says, feeling his heart clench. “I’m sorry.”  
Liam laughs again, louder than the last time and much sadder and much more watery. He sniffs once, hard. “S’alright. Wasn’t meant to be and all that.”  
Louis uses his hand that’s still resting on probably Liam’s cheek to pull Liam’s head down to him. He smacks a wet kiss onto Liam’s temple. “It’s gonna be okay.”  
“Yeah, it is.”  
They ride in silence for a while and then Liam starts to talk again.  
“Where were you last night? I went over to your house after the whole thing, but you weren’t there, and your mom didn’t know where’d you gone.”  
Louis is quiet for a second, then he says, “I was at a friend’s house.”  
“Yeah? Whose?”  
Louis doesn’t like this conversation. He doesn’t like the almost-hurt tone in Liam’s voice. He doesn’t like how he wasn’t there when Liam needed him. He doesn’t like a lot of things.  
“I don’t think you know him. He’s homeschooled.”  
Liam nods a bit. They don’t talk for the rest of the ride, which admittedly isn’t that much, but it feels much more dramatic in Louis’ head.  
~~~  
The world is a very heavy place and Louis feels the heaviest of all. He drags himself from place to place hoping that each classroom will be something of a refuge, but like Sisyphus rolling the weight of his own mental burden, it always slips and goes crashing down the hill again.  
Or maybe Louis’ just being dramatic again.  
~~~  
When he’s in Trig class, experiencing the terrifying highs and dizzying lows of math, his phone starts to buzz in his pocket. Surreptitiously looking in his pocket, he sees Harry’s name on the screen and his heart does a little flip, and it feels like he just got the rock to the top of the hill and it’s actually staying there, even for a moment.  
He raises his hand and points out the door at the bathroom. His teacher rolls her eyes and nods, like his bathroom activities are her own personal boulder, so he tries to look as not-happy as possible as he bounds out of his chair and into the bathroom. He darts into a stall and locks it behind him.  
His phone’s stopped ringing by that time, but he dials back immediately. Harry picks up on the second ring.  
“Louis?”  
“Yeah, hi, how are you?”  
“Oh, you know…” Harry trails off. He sounds positively miserable, which is not something Louis particularly likes, but, he supposes, is part of life.  
“What’s going on?” Just because being miserable is part of life and Louis is often miserable doesn’t mean he wants Harry to be miserable. If it were possible and Louis were, like, super buff, he’d punch away all obstacles to Harry’s happiness. Unless one of those obstacles was a dependence on Louis and his super-strong muscles. Then Louis would back off and not do anything until Harry wanted him to.  
“I’m supposed to be working on math, but I just wanted to talk to you, and, you know, apologize.”  
Louis wants to be cautious here. He is often cautious about lots of things, so being cautious with Harry seems to be part of his MO.  
“Apologize for what?”  
“My mom I guess. She gets a little overprotective and scary. It wasn’t fair of her to act like that to you.”  
“Harry, it’s fine. I know how moms can be.” His mom is like that with his younger sisters, always needing to know when and where they’re going and what time they’ll be back and all that. She doesn’t really do that with Louis, but she doesn’t really need to. He’s older and more likely to stay at home in his cave of a room than his sisters are.  
Unless, of course, he’s meeting cute boys in cemeteries.  
“Yeah, but she just takes it too far. I’m older now, I deserve the chance to hang out with the people I want to.”  
“I’m not going to disagree with you on that one. Unless the people you want to hang out with are big and scary and want to fight you.” Louis laughs.  
Harry snorts. “I seriously doubt you want to fight me.”  
“Oh yeah?” Louis means for it to come out teasing, but it just sounds soft.  
“Yeah,” Harry says, just as softly.  
The door to the bathroom swings open and Louis freezes. The person pees and leaves without washing their hands.  
“Ew,” Louis says.  
“Are you in a bathroom?” Harry asks.  
“Harold, honestly. Where else do you expect me to take phone calls?”  
“Oh! Sorry, I kind of forgot about the whole school thing,” He sounds apologetic, but less utterly miserable than he had earlier.  
Louis scoffs. “Of course you would. But before we both have to go subject ourselves to more math, would you want to come over tonight?”  
“Oh, um, I don’t… I guess, I mean…”  
Louis wants to hit himself in the face with his huge muscles. “If you can’t, it’s totally fine, I just thought it might be easier to do that at my place.”  
“Well,” Harry’s voice sounds very small, “my mom said I can’t hang out with you anymore until you formally introduce yourself and all that.”  
“Oh.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Well, could I come by today and do that, and then we could go to my house?”  
“Yeah I guess, I’ll see for sure and then let you know and all that.”  
“Alright, sounds good. And Harry?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Could you text me this time?”  
Harry laughs softly. “Yeah, I will. See you later Louis.”  
“Bye,” Louis says, and hangs up.  
He tries to look not-happy when he floats back into Trig, but he doesn’t think it works.  
~~~  
Lunchtime is a less somber affair than normal. Louis stole half of Liam’s sandwich without asking and shoves the whole thing in his mouth over Liam’s protests. Zayn smiles slyly and snatches Louis’ bag of chips right out from under his nose, which obviously can’t stand.  
He reaches over and grabs for them, making an angry noise when Zayn opens the bag and eats one lovingly.  
“God, Zayn give them back!” he screeches as Zayn continues to shovel them in his mouth. “Are Doritos even halal?”  
Zayn rolls his eyes, chews, and swallows. “Bro, I’ve eaten Doritos every day of my life. Of course they’re halal.”  
Louis pulls back and folds his arms, looking despondently at the mostly-empty bag in Zayn’s clutches. Zayn sighs and slides it across the table. Louis pulls his feet up on his chair and angrily eats the rest of the chips. Zayn had eaten all of the ones with the most nacho-cheese dust on them. Rude.  
“Louis, you can’t be mad at Zayn, you ate a whole half of my sandwich.”  
“Leemo,” Louis says with much more patience than needed, “You had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I had Doritos. The two don’t even compare in value.”  
Liam rolls his eyes. It seems there’s a lot of eye-rolling when Louis’s involved.  
“Hey, Louis right?” says a voice that is kind of familiar but not really. Louis turns around to see the beaming face of Niall, baker extraordinaire.  
“Yes, hello that is me,” Louis says, ignoring just how shocked Liam and Zayn look. “And you’re Niall, right? How did the macarons go?”  
Niall laughs loudly and his face turns a little red. “Not as well as my mom would have liked, but what are you gonna do?”  
Louis shrugs, because he doesn’t know. He’s not bad at cooking, but baking sounds like a whole other animal, one that Louis doesn’t want to go to the zoo to see. “Oh, did you want to sit down?” he asks, patting the seat next to him. Niall’s holding a cheeseburger from the lunch line, the one where you have to go and pay money to get things. Louis wonders if Sweet Cheeks is a lucrative business.  
“Sure, if you guys don’t mind,” Niall says. He doesn’t look self-conscious at all. Louis is kind of jealous.  
Zayn shakes his head and Liam says, “Nah, go ahead,” and Niall sits down.  
“Hi, I’m Niall Horan,” he says, reaching over to shake Liam and Zayn’s hands.  
After the introductions are made, Liam says, “So how do you know Louis?”  
“Oh, him and Harry came into the bakery the other day,” Niall says. Louis freezes at the sound of Harry’s name. Liam looks like he wants to say something else, but Zayn jumps in.  
“So you work in a bakery?”  
“Yeah, my mom and dad own it. S’called Sweet Cheeks, about six blocks that way,” Niall points in what Louis is assuming is the right direction.  
“Oh cool, I think I’ve heard of it before. Never been though,” Zayn says.  
Niall and Zayn talk while Liam whispers to Louis, “Who’s Harry?”  
“My friend,” Louis whispers back, trying to look a little defiant. Liam doesn’t need to know everything about him. No one needs to know anything about him except for him.  
Liam looks a little hurt, but he stops talking. Louis pulls back and promises to explain everything to Liam and Zayn later. Not right now.  
Niall’s laughing again. He seems to do that a lot. “Yeah, I’ve been making some of the stuff for a while now. Started making cookies by myself when I was seven. Just at home though, Mom wouldn’t let me work in the shop till I was 12.”  
Zayn looks a little star struck. Louis knows the feeling.  
Niall eats his cheeseburger and the rest of them finish their food and then it’s time to go and suffer through the rest of the day.  
He still feels some of that lightness from the phone call and lunch when he gets on the bus and sits down next to Liam. A little bit of it goes away when Liam asks, “Do you want to talk about Harry?”  
Louis shakes his head. Liam looks a little disappointed but lets it go.  
“So, Zayn really like Niall, huh?”  
Louis smiles a bit. “Niall’s easy to like I guess.”  
“So is Zayn,” Liam says, sounding a little grumpy about it.  
“Yeah, I suppose. Do you not want Zayn to like Niall or something?”  
Liam shrugs. “I’m just saying.”  
Louis sighs long-sufferingly. “Lima, Niall will not best-friend-replace you. Don’t worry.”  
“Yeah, I guess,” Liam says. Somehow, Louis doesn’t think he’s talking about Niall.


End file.
